


Prompt: Assorted Prompts

by EssayOfThoughts



Series: MCU Maximoff Oneshots [36]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Codependency, Gen, prompt fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 03:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5852074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssayOfThoughts/pseuds/EssayOfThoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assorted prompts from a word-prompt ask game over on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prompt: Assorted Prompts

**Author's Note:**

> You can read these on tumblr [Here](http://essayofthoughts.tumblr.com/post/138027103185/maximoff-twins-ayurnamat-or-brontide) or [Here](http://essayofthoughts.tumblr.com/post/138141772110/prompt-wanda-lalochezia).

**Ayurnamat**

> _The philosophy that there is no point in worrying about events that cannot be changed._

Pietro tries not to dwell on the past. Oh he remembers it, remembers the last sight of their parents faces, remembers the choking dust, the waiting shell, remembers cradling Wanda to his chest at ten years old and praying for the last time in his life in the hope they might be spared.

(They were. That doesn’t stop him resenting G-d.)

He remembers the past every day, remembers their parents dead, their friends gone, the streets turning wilder and wilder with protest and riot and the screaming fury of the city. He knows it drives Wanda, that Wanda wants to change the past sometimes, wants to bring their parents back even if their parents might not be proud of the people their children have become.

He does not dwell. He does not worry. Well, he does for some things. Things that matter, things he can change, _Wanda_. But not what to do when they’re bundled into a cell after a riot or a protest. Not what to do when Wanda has woken from a nightmare. Not what to do when a fight breaks out. Why should he? Wanda will solve the problem, he knows like instinct how to help her, he knows how to fight. Some things, past and present, cannot be changed, merely acknowledged.

Pietro hears Wanda screaming in his mind, feels the bullets in his chest, and sends two words to his sister.

_Don’t worry._

 

* * *

 

**Brontide**

> _The low rumbling of distant thunder._

It’s dark outside. 

Well, not _dark_ , per se, but dim, clouds swirling into an angry mass promising a storm. It makes the room dim and dark, all steel and chrome and hard dark stone. It’s almost oppressive and Wanda’s mind is cast far back into memory, almost a decade gone. A far smaller space, dust-clogged air and shifting bricks.

She hates small spaces.

The building is, really, vast. Huge open rooms, wide corridors lined with great glass windows, everything with more space than it needs, space to hold thousands even as it only keeps a few hundred.

( _Wasteful_ , Wanda thinks, and recalls the nights on the streets all the people this building could shelter.)

Outside thunder rumbles. It is almost soft, rumbling through stone and glass and so many rooms to here, but it is there. The room is dim, but she does not need to use her eyes to sense the room around her, swirls of scarlet telling her where wall and door and living person lie. She can see the order of Vision’s mind, the precise mind of Helen Cho, the storming thunder god’s mind.

The barely there mind before them all.

The room is dim. Far away, it seems, thunder rumbles.

Thor raises his hammer.

 

* * *

 

**Lalochezia**

> The use of abusive language to relieve stress or ease pain. 

Pietro didn’t speak much. He rarely had to. Sometimes he did, to tease or to taunt, or to comfort Wanda, but he didn’t tend to much, otherwise. Wanda spoke for them, Wanda decided for them, and, when she was particularly upset by something, Wanda would swear for them.

(There were three times Pietro would swear: If someone threatened Wanda, if Wanda was hurt, if someone spoke ill of their parents. Wanda swore for everything else.)

“Fuck this,” Wanda would sigh, and hurl a brick at the policeman about to club down the protester beside them.

“Fuck you,” Wanda would snarl in a fight, clutching a cracked rib and still ready to fight.

“Scheiße, Scheiße, Scheiße!” Wanda would yell, fist hitting the ground beside them as Pietro bandaged her ribs.

There were no words good enough, when he was taken from her, but there were plenty, always, for the days that came after.

Not that she _said_  them, necessarily. A gift of her powers, to keep a stream constantly in her mind when she wished it. She remembered the feel of Pietro’s silver slipping into the golden stream of it, scooping out some choice words for when he was exhausted training. Now there was no such silver, just golden curses tumbling over the blood red rubble of her cathedral.

There wasn’t really a cathedral any more. The façade had been destroyed, showing the old synagogue as clear as day. In some ways that hurt even more, remembering what it was to attend with her brother in their childhood.

 _(Fuck, fuck, fuck this, fuck it all, fuck the world, fuck the universe, why can’t it die, why can’t it_ end _, why won’t it let me_ **go** _?)_

Wanda swore and cursed and screamed in the silence of her mind, and wished for her brother's voice returned.

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated.


End file.
